


the next ten minutes

by orphan_account



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, amnesia au, this doesn't have a happy ending fyi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5777932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>laura's time has stopped and carmilla's running out faster than ever</p><p>(or the one where laura has anterograde amnesia and carmilla just wants to leave her mark in this world)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **(pls read this: this story doesn't end well/happily and with all the sad crap happening in the 100, this is a p dick move but i've been writing this for a v long time so please do not read it if you have any triggers)**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> wahoo hello guys i've been wanting to write an amnesia fic for a v long time now (i tried writing one for bechloe like two years back it was disastrous). so anyway i was looking up facts about amnesia and there's apparently another type of amnesia apart from the normal one so i used it.
> 
> laura has anterograde amnesia in this fic, which means she can't make new memories after the event that caused the amnesia and really it's a little depressing. she can remember the past, she just can't forge new memories so her life kind of resets itself everyday.
> 
> title from the next ten minutes from the last 5 years.
> 
> there's probably gonna be two chapters + a v v short prologue and it's a little angsty so take care of urself

There’s the sound of wind whipping over her shoulders. She feels as if she’s flying, her finger tips wriggling among the clouds and the altitude making her head spin. Sunlight filters through cracks among the clouds and her fingers close in on one of the beams, holding the warmth within herself. Laura looks down and suddenly she’s grounded again.

 

It’s entirely too bright when she wakes up, she reaches for her watch by her bed and instead comes into contact with a papery surface. There’s a yellow post-it attached to her equally yellow watch. She plucks the paper off and straps her watch onto her left wrist. 

 

‘ _Good morning, sleepyhead. This must be weird for you, you have anterograde amnesia, and you won’t remember what happened last night. ~~I~~_ ~~_wi_ _sh you did.'_~~  It says. She squints at it and cautiously gets off her bed before walking over to the bathroom. There’s another yellow post-it stuck to the mirror in her bathroom, she peels it off with one hand and grabs her toothbrush with the other. 

 

_‘My name is Carmilla Karnstein, I’m your neighbour. I became your girlfriend last night, you insisted I couldn't be because you wouldn't remember me. But I’ll help you out.’_ She brushes her teeth quickly and pulls her hair up into a ponytail before stepping out of the bathroom. There’s another note on her favourite TARDIS mug when she walks into her small kitchen.

 

_‘We had our first kiss here a week ago. I was on this counter and you were between my legs. You said i tasted like strawberry.’_ Laura licks her lips and fills her mug with water. Her yellow pillow sits on the bar stool, there’s another post-it sticking out from it.

 

_‘I told you that this pillow smells like you, like vanilla and spring and sunshine. You hit me with it afterwards.’_

 

She finds another one by the door, on the fading door frame. _‘You told me that you loved me last night. Can you tell me that again today?’_

 

As if on cue, the doorbell rings and Laura blinks at the door. She clicks the lock open and she’s greeted with dark hair and sharp cheekbones. The woman is pale and slim, an inch or two taller than she was and has the most impossible jawline Laura’s ever seen. There’s a grin on her features that looks slightly out of place and there are bags of breakfast takeout in her left hand. 

 

The woman’s right arm comes up and presses a similar yellow post-it to Laura’s chest, right above her erratically thumping heart. _‘I’m Carmilla Karnstein, and I'm your girlfriend. I was here last night, invite me in again?’_

 

Laura’s looking up at the woman with her brows furrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line. She really should be freaking out right now but she feels strangely calm. Her fingertips are cold and her toes are curled.

 

“Hi poptart.” Carmilla says and everything is starting to click into place. There’s still something uneasy settling at the pit of Laura’s stomach and she stares back at Carmilla. The corners of Carmilla’s lips start to tug downwards and Laura reaches out for her.

 

“Hi Carm,” she says quickly and the smile resurfaces, Laura thinks it stretched even wider than before. There’s a foreign feeling buzzing inside her body and she feels lightheaded when she’s suddenly invaded with the scent of fresh pine and chocolate. She tells herself that it's muscle memory when she pushes herself up onto her toes and presses her lips to Carmilla’s for a fraction of a second and everything stops and falls into place.

 

Carmilla tastes like strawberry.


	2. one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> carmilla's angry at everything and laura doesn't understand anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okaay this chapter isn't particularly happy but the next one gets fluffier (and then it goes downhill but we don't have to talk about that). 
> 
> the next chapter will be the final and longest one though idk how long i'm going to take but i'll try my best to get it done within two weeks.

It’s seven-thirty in the morning when her alarm goes off. Laura turns over and jabs randomly at her phone until the shrill ringing ceases. There’s a slow spinning ceiling fan above her and the pale sunlight filtering in from her semi transparent curtains bathes her left side, and it feels strange but it wasn't entirely unwelcome. Laura has a notebook filled to the brim with attachments and pictures. Receipts of mostly pointless purchases and ticket stubs of films she’ll never recall ever watching.

 

There’s a glass panel standing in the middle of her apartment and there’s a Polaroid of two redheads washi taped to the top left corner. The names _Perry & Lafontaine_ were scribbled underneath the Polaroid with a thin marker and beneath the names lie descriptions. Perry, boss and shop owner. Laf, biology teacher in high school. More Polaroids scatter themselves around Laura’s glass panel. Danny Lawrence, new cafe owner down the street [21/03/11]. Wilson Kirsch, new employee at Danny’s cafe [09/08/12]. Betty Spielsdorf, co-worker but she only works weekdays [04/11/13].

 

Right smack in the middle of Laura’s board is a picture of her parents, decorated with stickers. The last Polaroid taped at the bottom of her board is the back view of a dark haired woman walking down the hallways, the word _Neighbour_ scrawled above it. 

 

Laura grabs her marker and scratches off today’s date on her calendar before she trudges into her bathroom. 

 

/

 

Laura thinks she meets her first at the lobby of her apartment building. It’s the ninth of November and it’s way too late to be out. The stranger has a bag slung across her left shoulder and sunglasses slipping off the bridge of her nose. She’s struggling with her luggages and Laura runs forward to offer help. Grabbing silently for the handle of one of the luggages, Laura’s fingers brush the stranger’s and she looks up, a scowl fixated on her face. She’s breathing harder than Laura’d expected, beads of perspiration dotted her forehead.

 

“Uh,” Laura bounces back at the look. “You looked like you needed help.” She stutters and the stranger tilts her head at Laura. 

 

“I’ll manage.” The stranger replies but Laura stubbornly holds onto the luggage handle.

 

“C’mon just admit you need help.” She nudges the woman and she flinches slightly. The stranger nods in the end, wordlessly dragging the rest of her baggage over to the elevator while Laura hauls the one gripped tightly in her fist. Something still falls between them once Laura steps into the elevators and the doors slide shut with a shaky shudder. The stranger has her head down, though Laura can feel her eyes gazing at Laura through her bangs. The blonde can hear the stranger breathing heavily, it's as if she smokes ten packs everyday, Laura thinks. Laura chuckles awkwardly while the stranger punches the elevator button. “It’s cold out, huh.” Laura licks her lips and the woman stares at her for a second before she nods stiffly and offers a scratchy ‘yeah’ in return. The lift doors slide open on the third floor a minute later and the woman scurries out with her bags. 

 

It takes Laura another minute before she realises that they live on the same floor. 

 

/

 

She meets the stranger again for the first time on the first of December. There’s a figure underneath the lamp post outside the apartment building, dark shadows dance around the woman when the glow from the lamp flickers unsteadily. Laura stumbles through the snow, her arms wrapped around bags of groceries. The stranger pulls her cigarette out from between her chapped lips and drops it onto the ground, extinguishing it with the heel of her boot. She turns to Laura and Laura halts for a second because she’s really _really_ pretty, with her dark hair framing her sharp cheekbones. Clearing her throat, Laura lifts her foot again and stomps up the building steps with her damp and heavy boots.

 

“You look like you need help.” There’s a raspy voice behind Laura and she stops again. Laura’s about to shake her head and reject when the stranger from earlier reaches out for one of the paper bags in Laura’s arms. There’s a lazy smirk stretched across her features while perfectly curved eyebrows raise upwards.

 

“I really don’t—” Laura starts but the stranger cuts her off.

 

“Take it as me repaying the favour, yeah?” She says and Laura’s eyebrows knit together. 

 

“Repaying what favour?” Laura arches an eyebrow because this was the first time she’s seen this woman, she thinks. The stranger cocks an eyebrow at her and she blurts. “Have we met?” 

 

“Have we?” The woman sends Laura’s question back to her. Laura’s lower lip juts out and she reaches for the notebook tucked in her messenger bag. Perhaps she’d missed a page when sifting through this morning. Her fingers close around the leather bound book when the stranger speaks again.

 

“Huh,” the stranger studies Laura for a moment while they wait for the elevator. “So you weren't lying about the amnesia thing.” 

 

They enter the lift together and she pokes the button for the third floor before Laura does. “Wha—”

 

“Do you actually not remember anything?” The woman cuts her off again and she’s starting to get on Laura’s nerve. “Like at all?” They walk side by side to apartment 308 after the elevator doors open with a quiet ding and Laura grabs her paper bag back from the stranger. She fumbles with her keys and shoves it into the keyhole before twisting the door knob. Laura hurries in with her groceries and a rushed ‘ _thanks_ ’ thrown behind her shoulder.

 

The apartment door next to Laura’s swing shut with a soft thump just as Laura turns to close her door again.

 

/

 

Laura meets the stranger for the final first time on the fifth of December. She’d just visited Danny’s for a bagel and hot chocolate takeaway when she bumps into someone right outside her apartment lobby.

 

“Oh hey.” The stranger looks Laura up and down. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” She says and Laura shuffles back a step. “Anyway, we've spoken three times now and—”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Laura cuts her off this time. “I have this problem, this uh—” _God_ she hates the word.

 

“Antero-something amnesia.” The woman fills in for her and Laura’s fingers tighten around her styrofoam cup. “And you forget things over the night and I’m pretty sure you wont remember this tomorrow, but I’m Carmilla Karnstein, and I’m your neighbour.” 

 

Laura stares at Carmilla as if she’s grown a third eye and Carmilla merely grins back at the wide-eyed girl. They step into the elevator together and Laura instinctively reaches for the third floor’s button. Carmilla beats her to it. “Right, so I wanted to ask for your help. Kind of.” 

 

There’s a beat of silence when Laura’s positive she could hear the irregular beat of her heart and then the elevator doors are creaking open and Carmilla’s talking again. “I’m an artist, and I don’t really work well under pressure but my manager has been bugging me for a new series for ages now. And frankly I’m running low on cash at the moment so I really need to churn out something new for the exhibit, so I’d moved here hoping to get some inspiration and I found some, I think—”

 

“You want to draw me?” Laura interrupts when they stop in front of their apartment doors. 

 

“You’re really presumptuous aren't you?” Carmilla throws her head back and chuckles and Laura blushes for a second.

 

“Why else would you be telling me all this then?” She shrugs and Carmilla nods. “So will I get paid or something?”

 

“No, but—” The raven haired girl squints at Laura and her lips twist. “Your face will be everywhere in the exhibition?” 

 

“Good enough for me.” Laura shrugs again and unlocks her door. Carmilla promises to knock on Laura’s door tomorrow to get started on her work and Laura agrees with a smile. 

 

That night, Laura uncaps her marker and scribbles down a few new facts about her neighbour. _Carmilla, artist, wants to draw me — the only perk for me is that my face will be everywhere in the exhibition._

 

_/_

 

It’s been a week since Carmilla’s started coming over to draw and sketch Laura. There’s a distinct smell of strawberry in the air and Laura feels herself falling asleep on her couch where Carmilla had wanted her.

 

“Hey,” though muffled, Carmilla’s voice breaks the stillness and quiet in the small apartment. She pulls the lollipop out from her mouth and holds it between her thumb and her index. Carmilla coughs and her throat rumbles, it clears after a second or two and she says, “Tell me something about yourself.”

 

Laura blinks slowly at the raven haired girl, who gave her a lopsided grin in return before popping the lollipop back between her lips and bringing her pencil up to the paper again. “I like yellow.” Laura licks her lips and combs her hand through her hair. 

 

“ _Okay_ , now tell me something else that I don’t already know.” Carmilla’s eyelids droop and she points the end of her pencil to the numerous yellow post-its dotting Laura’s walls. “And stop moving so much.”

 

“I like grape flavoured things but I don’t like grape.” Laura tilts her head slightly to look over at Carmilla. 

 

“That’s really weird.” She replies and moves the lollipop stick from left to right. “So your amnesia thing, when did it start?”

 

“Two thousand and nine.” Laura’s voice comes out smaller than she’d intended. She glances at the giant yellow watch on her wrist and counts silently in her head. “Five years ago.”

 

“Huh,” Carmilla pulls the lollipop out. “How old were you?”

 

“Seventeen.” 

 

Carmilla nods before taking the candy back between her teeth. The silence stretches on for minutes and Laura’s waiting for Carmilla’s expected ‘how did it happen?’ but it never came. Laura relaxes into her worn out couch and watches Carmilla instead. Her fingers reach for the Polaroid camera in her messenger bag and she pulls the lens open before snapping a quick picture of Carmilla. Carmilla doesn't react, save for the almost unnoticeable eyebrow raise, but she doesn't protest either, so Laura sets the film and the camera aside.

 

/

 

They sit opposite each other in the cramped booth in a small cafe down the street. Carmilla’s thumping her fingers against her cigarette box, and while Laura could tell something was wrong, she couldn't bring herself to ask. 

 

“Why’d you bring me here to draw?” She asks instead and Carmilla huffs. Laura notices how tired Carmilla looked, how the bags under her eyes seem darker today. How her cheeks seem to cave in on themselves. When Carmilla exhales, her whole body shudders and it’s as if her bones can’t hold her together anymore. Laura wants to reach out for her.

 

“Change in backdrop and atmosphere.” She replies. Laura drops her marshmallows into her mug of hot chocolate and blinks. Carmilla’s scratching lines into her sketch book, so deeply etched Laura’s sure there’ll be imprints on the next page. “So what do you do for a living?” Carmilla asks abruptly, trying to erase a particularly out of shaped line. 

 

Laura tells her that she works for her friend, Perry. Assembling robots and trains and planes for sale in the shop. She screws the arms to the bodies of the robots and she attaches the battery-run engines to the trains. She says that it’s kind of boring, that she’d wanted to do so much more when she was younger. She’d planned on attending Silas University, their town’s most prestigious. She’d planned on joining the biggest news company in their state. She had her entire future mapped out.

 

“So you wanted to be a journalist.” Carmilla states rather than asks but Laura answers with a quiet _mhm_ anyway. “Sucks for you, huh.”

 

Laura stays quiet at that.

 

“So you're perpetually a teenager. How’s that working out for you?” Carmilla asks again, her tone biting and her words rushed. 

 

“Um, good. I guess.”

 

“That’s fucked up.” 

 

Laura shrinks in on herself and her hands wrap around the mug, nervously twitching against the smooth surface while Carmilla continues manhandling the sketchbook with her pencil. She abruptly drops the pencil and props her head up with her fists, thumbs pressing harshly into her temples as she squeezes her eyes shut. 

 

“Are you okay?” Laura reaches out tentatively, her fingertips touches Carmilla’s wrist for a second before Carmilla pulls away as if she were burned. Laura retracts her hand hastily and folds them in her lap. “Hey,” Laura tries again and Carmilla grabs her pencil again. Her hands are shaking as her fingers curl around her pencil.

 

“I’m fine.” She rasps and spares Laura a glance before she’s back to shaping out Laura’s jaw on the piece of paper. 

 

“Are you sure?” Laura tilts her head. “Because it looks like you're about to collapse.”

 

Carmilla lets out a bitter laugh at that and Laura’s jaw locks. “I feel terrific, cupcake. Now will you shut up and let me concentrate?”

 

“Why are you being such a raging b—” Carmilla sneers at her and she clenches her fists. “—bad person? I’m just trying to look out for you.”

 

“I told you, I’m fucking fantastic.” She growls and Laura’s toes curl. “I don’t need your pity.”

 

“What is wrong with you?” Laura has her palms on the cushion of the seats and her elbows locked. “I’m just trying to help, to—to care or—”

 

Carmilla stops scratching at her sketchbook and she looks up, her jaw locked and her nostrils flared. “Take a look at yourself, do you care for anything? Can you? No, because you can't fucking remember, and you wont remember a single shit tomorrow so these words are fucking rich coming from someone as damaged as you. I don’t need your pity.” She reiterates and Laura can feel her anger bouncing off her insides. 

 

“At least I’m trying my best, why are you always so sad? So angry and so incapable of having feeli—”

 

Something hardens further in Carmilla’s eyes and she smiles at Laura, sending a jolt down her spine. “You want to know why I’m _always so sad_?” She mocks in a high pitched tone. “Because I’m dying, sweetheart. I have idiopathic pulmonary hypertension, which means that my arteries and capillaries are either blocked or destroyed and my heart has to work multiple times harder to get blood through my useless lungs.”

 

Laura’s eyes glaze over at that and everything becomes static noise in the background. Carmilla’s still grinning at her crookedly and she opens her mouth but nothing comes out. When it eventually comes out in a spluttered reply of, “I’m sorry, I didn't know,” Carmilla laughs, loud and mirthless and it rings out uncomfortably against Laura’s eardrums.

 

“Do you know anything at all?” She throws her head back in a laugh. “Eventually, my heart’s going to stop pumping all together because it’s too weak to do any shit and I am going to die. Why am I always so _sad_ , you're asking?” Carmilla continues and Laura lowers her head, shaking it left to right and back again. 

 

“Sorry,” she offers weakly when she realises Carmilla wasn't going to say anymore. “I won’t remember this tomorrow.” 

 

“Of course.” Carmilla scoffs and laughs, her voice rough and scratchy and it makes Laura want to throw up.

 

She slumps down in her seat and her fingernails dig into her palms. They spend the remaining of their two hour session in silence.

 

/

 

There’s someone at her door, a woman who’d introduced introduced herself as Laura’s neighbour. She’s here to draw, she says, Laura invites her in a mere second later. The woman — Carmilla — unceremoniously plops herself onto Laura’s couch and opens her sketchbook, her pencil already twirling between her fingers. Laura cautiously lowers herself into the armchair adjacent to the couch. 

 

“Are you okay?” Carmilla asks, an eyebrow quirked up. Laura releases her grip on the armrests and folds them in her crossed lap. She nods quickly. 

 

“Are you?” 

 

“Am I what?” Carmilla scrunches her nose at Laura and the blonde blinks. Laura shakes her head and mutters a quiet, “nothing.”

 

They sit in silence for half an hour, the only sounds in the room were from the precariously creaking ceiling fan and the clacking of Carmilla’s lollipop against her teeth. Laura fidgets and she unfolds and folds her legs underneath her again and again. She thinks Carmilla’s upset. The woman's gnawing on her lollipop, her pencil gripped so hard between her fingers that Laura’s afraid that it would snap.

 

“Are you okay?” Laura asks again and Carmilla sucks in a breath of air. She mumbles a drawn out ‘mhm’ but never looks up at Laura. “Are you sure?”

 

“I’m peachy as fuck, cupcake.” Carmilla snaps and Laura’s fingernails dig into her thighs.

 

“Why are you angry?” Laura’s persistent, if anything. “You can tell me, you know. I know I’m not your family or—or therapist or whatever, not even a friend maybe. But you can tell me.”

 

Carmilla drops the pencil. “Because you won’t remember anything by tomorrow? How fucking convenient, you can be my venting machine, huh. Because you'll wake up tomorrow and you'll have zero obligations and zero problems. Because you forget everything in one fucking night. Because you're barely a functioning human being.” The last few words are choked out and Carmilla’s bent over and struggling to fill her lungs with enough oxygen. Her skin is pale and her lips are a faint tint of purplish blue.

 

“Sorry.” Laura feels like she’s said this a million times over. And Carmilla looks up at her. 

 

“You want to know why I’m angry?” She grits her teeth and there’s a hand clawing her nails down against her chest. “Because it hurts, every single breath I take sends jolts of unbearable pain up my spine, and I don’t know when it’ll all stop. I don’t know if I want it to stop, I don’t know when I’ll collapse and I don’t know when my heart stops pumping. I’m dying, Laura. That makes me fucking upset okay?”

 

It takes Laura several minutes to process the fact that Carmilla’s dying. It takes another few more for her to realise something else. “You’re scared.” Laura says after Carmilla’s fingers stop trembling. 

 

Carmilla doesn't acknowledge that, just picks her pencil up again and resumes sketching.

 

/

 

The weather was being kind tonight. There are street lamps extending miles away, illuminating the paved roads and there’s a dark sky illuminated by a crescent moon, frowning down at Laura.

 

There’s something unnerving in the way she doesn't remember anything or anyone. Someone could've changed her life yesterday and she wouldn't remember it. She could've hurt someone yesterday and she would never know again. Laura’s sitting on the railings of her balcony, Polaroids and photos littered her sides as she surveys them one by one. 

 

“What are you doing out here? It’s eleven pm, cutie.” A low voice startles her. Someone’s stepping out from the apartment next to hers and onto their own balcony adjacent to hers. Laura looks up at the raven haired woman and gives her a small smile.

 

“Counting the number of people I’ve lost touch with or since forgotten.” She replies and slumps down against one arm with her palm propping her up.

 

“Huh,” the woman sticks a cigarette in between her lips and pulls out a lighter. She strikes it a couple of times before it lights up. “How’s it going so far?”

 

Instead of answering, Laura picks a photo up and extends her arm towards her neighbour. “This is JP. He’s my best friend.” The woman looks at her and tilts her head, receiving the photo from Laura. “ _Was_ , my best friend. I haven't spoken to him in five years.”

 

She picks another one up and hands it to the woman. “This is Betty, she was my roommate.”

 

She rubs a photograph in between her thumb and her forefinger and passes it to her neighbour. “This is my mom and dad.”

 

Laura swallows and her teeth clenches. Her ribcage feels heavy and breathing suddenly becomes difficult. “I called my dad just now,” she says and curls her fingers into fists. “He sounded tired when he said my name. I asked for my mom and he sighed in reply.” Her neighbour stifles a cough and Laura bows her head. “My mom’s been dead for five years — she’d died in the same accident that made me this useless walking corpse, and I still ask for her every time I call my dad. My dad has to suffer because I’m too much of a coward to just write it down somewhere.” She gets angry and her nails dig harshly into her palms. She grabs the red sharpie from her box and tugs the photo back from her neighbour. She uncaps the sharpie and crosses out her mother’s smiling face with an angry red X, she writes down the word _dead_ in block letters over her mother’s smile, and she breaks down. 

 

There’s a quiet shuffling sound beside her and a soft curse of _‘holy crap that’s high’_ and then there’s someone beside her. 

 

“Hey, I’m Carmilla Karnstein.” The woman says and Laura looks up at her through her unshed tears. “I’m your neighbour. And you don’t have to lose touch with me.”

 

Laura shuffles towards the woman and leans her head on her shoulder. Carmilla doesn't encourage Laura or lean into her but she doesn't move away either. She drops her half-length cigarette three floors down and they watch as the embers die out in the drop. Laura’s hands are numb from the freezing temperatures and her mouth is dry, but Carmilla isn't moving yet, so she stays still as well. She can feel Carmilla's erratic breathing when her shoulders rise with too much exaggeration or when she lets out a quiet shudder that sends vibrations echoing through Laura's veins. She reminds herself to tell Carmilla to cut down on the smoking next time because she's starting to sound like Darth Vader when she breathes.

 

They sit like this for another fifteen minutes before she licks her lips and rubs traces of dried up tear stains away, and she says, “Thanks Carm.” 

 

/

 

There’s a storm raging outside and Laura wouldn't have gone out at all if not for the giant pile of rubbish atop her designated rubbish bin. So there she was, ten pm and alone in the hallways with a giant black bag hauled over her shoulder. She disposes it in the rubbish chute and claps her hands together a couple of times while she strolls back to her apartment.

 

A particularly loud clap of thunder raises the hairs at the back of her neck and she glances up at the flicking fluorescent lights lining the hallway before the snuff out completely. 

 

“Jesus Christ.” She murmurs under her breath and slowly feels her way back to her apartment with help from the pale moonlight filtering in from outside the giant window at the end of the hallway. A loud slam from the apartment next to hers startles her further and not a moment later, a disheveled looking young woman steps out from apartment 307, combing her fingers through her hair and gasping almost painfully. 

 

“Holy fuck,” the woman wheezes and Laura steps forward.

 

“Are you okay?” She reaches a hand out to grip at the woman’s forearm, immediately retracting her hand when she jumps in shock. 

 

“Does this happen a lot?” The woman gestures to the darkness surrounding them and Laura shrugs. She’s breathing so heavily Laura considers making a run for her apartment and dialling for the ambulance before the woman passes out.

 

“I don’t know.” She never remembers when it happens. She doesn't know what to do when encountering persons with breathing difficulties, so she does the only logical thing. “Do you want to come in?” Laura nudges her over to her own apartment and the woman squints at her before nodding mutely. She introduces herself as Carmilla Karnstein when they enter the apartment. The power’s still out, so Laura flicks on her battery operated fairy lights and watches as Carmilla’s shoulders drop. 

 

“That’s gay, Hollis.” Carmilla comments and Laura laughs.

 

“Whatever, they remind me of the stars.” She says and shuffles into the kitchen. “There’s too much light pollution here to see them. I used to stargaze with my mom.” Carmilla stiffens at that but Laura doesn't notice, or if she did, she doesn't mention.

 

They end up next to each other on the couch, Laura’s laptop on on the coffee table in front of them while Laura shuffles through her DVD collection. Carmilla sticks her hand under Laura’s nose abruptly and she's pointing at a particular DVD case. Laura looks at her with an amused smile but grabs it anyway. She slides the disc into her mac and waits for it to boot up. “You like The Jungle Book?” Laura teases and clicks on her laptop while she adjusts the brightness. Carmilla doesn't answer, so the strawberry blonde leans back and crosses her legs underneath herself. 

 

Fifteen minutes into the movie and Carmilla finally speaks again. “Why’d you just invite me in? You don’t even know me.”

 

Laura looks up at her and shrugs. “You looked like you were about to pass out.” Carmilla scowls. “And I do know you.” Laura points to a couple of post-its with Carmilla’s name on them and then at several Polaroids of the woman. Carmilla’s features soften and the corners of her lips tilt upwards.

 

“That’s creepy and stalker-ish.” She nudges Laura and the blonde lets out an embarrassed squeak. 

 

“I won’t remember otherwise, okay? And I really want to remember you.”

 

Carmilla remains silent and Laura lets the matter drop after a quiet sigh. It’s eleven twenty when Laura’s eyelids start to grow heavy. 

 

“Go to bed, Laura.” Carmilla says. “I’ll leave when the storm calms down. I swear.”

 

Laura shakes her head and her eyes snap open again, she's blinking rapidly and Carmilla licks her lips. “Ten more minutes, Carm. Stay with me.”

 

Their knees are touching and Carmilla’s bare skin is burning against the direct contact.

 

“Okay.” Carmilla finally answers. She turns her head and Laura’s eyes are closed, her breathing had evened out and her hands are grasping her toy giraffe loosely. 

 

Carmilla stays anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact i wrote like half the story in second person pov but then realised it was stupid only after i hit 7k words bc laura can't remember shit and it's all messed up.
> 
> thanks for reading and u can hmu at negovanliss.tumblr.com!!! (-8


End file.
